


Coding Cracking 101

by clueing_for_looks



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clueing_for_looks/pseuds/clueing_for_looks
Summary: “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Toby said, his eyes flashing. “You stole information you didn’t understand, and gave it to someone you don’t trust. All of that to benefit the family you no longer speak to.”Adil nodded. “And for you,” he said, quietly.





	1. Chapter 1

For the first two days after his ‘chat’ with Mr D’Abberville, Adil skirted around his new nefarious responsibilities. Times, dates, and information; he was not equipped to steal anything of the sort. It was a harsh jump from illicit moments in an upstairs room to full-on investigative work.

The extent of his knowledge concerning Toby’s professional life was that he worked in a room with no natural light. He knew this because Toby had grumbled for an entire Monday about missing a lovely afternoon in his ‘windowless box’.

“Briefcase,” Adil reminded himself, every time the nerves became too much. It had been his mantra ever since the ultimatum had been issued. Prying the information out of Toby would be nearly impossible, but the papers were kept in the room with them every night. If he had a moment, just one moment alone…

Perhaps he could summon the courage.

*

Actually seeing the briefcase stunted all of Adil’s plans. It was innocuous enough; posh and a bit downtrodden, like Toby. Unlike it's owner, the case made bile rise in Adil’s throat.

Touching it would be a punishable offense. Touching _Toby_ was a punishable offense, but Adil had made his peace with that. Becoming accountable for capital crimes was a different matter. The choice between deportation and a government-ordered hanging battled for a larger slice of his fear, neither triumphant.

Toby noticed his reticence after the second evening. Adil kept their encounters light and chaste, shying away when Toby tried to drag him by the hand into bed.

The word ‘treason’ made his limbs feel jittery and unresponsive. Toby smiled in a confused way when Adil didn’t reach back, his arms hanging loose at his sides.

“Tired?” he suggested, and Adil nodded along. He was tired. Desperately, terrifyingly exhausted.  

When Toby excused himself to use the bathroom Adil pushed himself towards the desk. He touched the battered briefcase, knowing that the action alone was equal to putting a noose around his neck. The case was open, he could feel that the top flap was loose. He waited for five slow seconds, hoping Toby would return and expose him.

Adil forced an image of his parents into his mind as he lifted the lid. The case contained several folders worth of paper, jammed together tightly under paperclips. The corners of a protruding page were dogeared and ink spattered, placed straight from Toby’s desk into his bag. 

Adil ran his finger along the top, intending to pull it out. The page cut him sharply and he withdrew, sticking his finger into his mouth. _An omen not to be ignored_ , his mother would have said. _You have been warned_.

“You’re distracted tonight,” Toby observed, when he came back into the room. Adil pinched his fingertips together tightly to stop the bleeding. If he got a speck of blood on his uniform there would be hell to pay.

“Just thinking about my parents,” he said, honestly.

His innocent parents, who lived in a one room apartment above an ironmonger. Who had given him everything they could, and made a life for themselves in London. Who would be horrified, heartbroken, if they were sent back to India. 

Toby tipped his head to one side. They did not discuss family, unless it was to moan about Lady Hamilton. Toby looked like he wanted to ask more, but Adil quickly sidestepped him and moved to the door.

“Work,” he murmured, slipping into the corridor before Toby could make him stay.

*

Before heading to the hotel the following morning, Adil tried to steady his nerves with a few swigs of whisky. He knew Mr D’Abberville would be waiting furiously for an update, likely stalking the halls of the hotel attempting to find him. Adil had managed to avoid him for the previous two days by begging Mr Garland to place him on room service duty. It had caused many raised eyebrows but had been granted, and Adil had kept himself far away from the light and noise of the bar.

The whisky sat uncomfortably in his empty stomach.

Adil pressed a hand to his hair, trying to make it lie flatter. He looked distressingly sickly, his eyes tired and strained. He felt like he had already stolen the information a hundred times, having played the scene over and over in his head before falling asleep.

It was an impossible situation.

Betraying Toby’s trust felt like a physical illness. It was a creeping sense of dread that settled over his chest, pushing inwards until his lungs felt tight and near combustion. Toby Hamilton trusted him with his life. Adil saw it every time the other boy unbuttoned his shirt or rolled over in his sleep.

Adil set his gaze on the shard of mirror above his sink, clearing his throat nervously.

“Mr D’Abberville, the thing is…Toby is very careful and I don’t think…”

He gripped the sink, trying to picture the outcome. No harm would be done to Toby. He would remain innocent and untarnished in the eyes of the law, his career unimpeded. He might be overwhelmed when Adil was deported – it was easy to picture the slack-jawed confusion. It would quickly turn to tightly controlled anger when he found out the cause.  

The letterbox snapped open and closed as an envelope was pushed through.

Forcing his feet to move across the room, Adil stooped to pick it up. It was cheap paper with his address written in blotchy handwriting, the street name spelt incorrectly. As he flicked it open and scanned to the end, his sister’s name leapt off the page. She was getting married at the end of August to a military sweetheart Adil knew nothing about. She had underlined all the important parts, including the date, the time, and that he was not allowed to bring anyone. The last line ‘from your dear sister, Riya’ was also underlined.

The decision to shield Toby burst into flames.

He was a brother, and a son, and didn’t that come first? It felt instinctive to protect Toby Hamilton, like running back into a burning building to save a child. It was terrifying how strong the connection between them had grown.

But his family needed him. 

Adil walked to the hotel in a trancelike state, almost getting hit by an oncoming ambulance. His sister’s letter remained in his hand the entire time. Her slanted writing at the bottom of the page – ATTENDING: YES / NO – pulled the invisible rope tight around his neck.

Adil had no recollection of getting changed into his work uniform. He simply found himself standing behind the bar two hours before serving time began, his fingers crumpling the paper in his hand.

When Mr D’Abberville took a seat, he reached for the letter without speaking. Adil moved it just in time, stuffing the page into his jacket pocket. “I haven’t got anything yet,” Adil said, before the question could be fired at him. “I need your assurance that if I do this it will never be traced back to Toby.”

Mr D’Abberville was watching him with narrowed eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his hands were curled into loose fists upon the bar. Adil wondered how the situation seemed to stress them both equally, as if Mr D’Abberville also had a knife hanging over his head.

“Toby will be perfectly fine if you do as you are _told_ ,” the older man hissed. A small droplet of spittle burst from his lips, and Adil wiped the counter automatically. “If you do as I say, the two of you will live out your disgusting fantasy for the rest of your days. He will never be implicated.”

“Do you swear it?” Adil asked, wincing at how childish it was to make his blackmailer ‘promise’ him.

“I swear that if you do _not_ give me something by tonight I will end his future with a click of my fingers.”

Adil did not permit himself to imagine Toby’s lacklustre future if the truth were revealed. He would be blacklisted from the best jobs in London, and by his own people at the top of the social ladder. A lonely and isolated life.

Mr D’Abberville pushed back his bar stool and straightened his suit, fixing Adil with a rigid smile. “Tonight,” he said firmly. “Eight O’clock in the wine store.”

The door to the lounge closed behind him and Adil rested his forehead against the cool surface of the counter. His heart was beating against the letter, and he felt his insides pulling fiercely in both directions. This was why people went to war, he supposed. To fight off the feeling of helpless surrender.   

One of the junior barmen came through the swinging door and Adil pushed himself up hastily. In the end there was no choice to be made. Passing along the information would protect his family and keep Toby’s prospects intact, at least for now.

If he defied Mr D’Abberville he would end up imprisoned, unemployable, or dead.   

*

Kissing Toby felt different, now that he had a secret. Adil was acutely aware that it was not ‘their’ secret, the one that bound them together and made him feel invincible. This secret made his skin feel hot and itchy.

Toby did not remark upon him tasting of poison, or looking different, or feeling like a taught violin string under his hands. He greeted Adil just as eagerly as he usually did, and griped his hands just as tightly. Adil clenched him back, because even spies needed reassurance.

“I missed you,” Toby said urgently, as soon as the door was shut. He pressed a quick kiss against Adil’s mouth, pulling back to kick off his shoes.

Adil looked away as he got undressed. It felt too intimate now, to see all of Toby. It took an act of faith to show someone everything, and Adil felt like he no longer deserved the privilege.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the cramps in his stomach. The future was resting on a knife edge, and every movement wobbled them to an equally poor conclusion.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said belatedly. Toby curled a hand behind his neck and pulled him in, licking his mouth in a playful manner. Resisting the urge to copy the movement, Adil took a step back. If he didn’t do it now he would lose all courage.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

Toby rested a hand on his cheek, looking at Adil without concern. He brushed a kiss to Adil’s mouth, lasting half a second. “What is it?”

 _I’m being sent to India_ , he wanted to confess. _And your – reputation. It will take time to rebuild_.

“You taste of cigarettes,” Adil said instead. He didn’t smoke, personally, but he enjoyed the strange ashy taste it left on Toby. He forced his expression into one of dislike, refusing to lick his lips.

“In an unpleasant way?” Toby asked, touching his mouth self-consciously. “Do you want me to – ?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Toby looked taken aback but let go of Adil’s arms immediately. The decision had been made. Adil did not have time to feel any guilt as Toby walked to the bathroom. His vision had zeroed in on the briefcase and nothing else. The sound of a tap turning was the start of his internal stopwatch; he crossed the room and yanked open the leather flap.

The papers were exactly as they had been before. Adil pulled one sheet experimentally, running his eyes over its contents. He realised quickly that nothing he found would make any sense to him. The page contained rows and rows of numbers, side by side in neat grids. Toby’s pen had drawn lines under some, while others had been circled or crossed out.

It was worse than he had imagined. When Adil had pictured the theft, he had prepared himself to memorise a line or two of dialogue, ready to parrot back when the time came. He couldn’t do _numbers_.

He could hear Toby in the bathroom, a toothbrush pumping in and out of his mouth. Adil forced his eyes to slow down and focus, looking only at the top row of numbers.

42-18-65…56-82-02…67-05-86…

He repeated it to himself four times, trying to make the digits stick. There was no paper to copy it onto and his mind felt jumpy, running too fast.

Hearing the running water stop Adil jammed the paper back into the briefcase, creasing the corner as he did so. The second the lid was shut Toby emerged from behind the door, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Better?” He asked, licking his tongue over Adil’s bottom lip. The kiss was minty and pleasant, but Adil could feel the blood pounding in the papercut he had received two days ago.

“Perfect,” he said, scratchily. Toby grinned and bit his neck, and Adil’s attention finally slid away from the desk.

*

Hours later, Adil watched Toby’s fingers fidgeting in his sleep. He had never met someone who slept as inconsistently as Toby, and catching him unconscious at all was a freak occurrence. If he moved an inch Toby’s eyes would drift open, like Adil had tripped a silent alarm. 

Adil stared at Toby’s flickering eyelids, repeating the numbers in his head. 42-18-65…then it got hazy. 56-82…02. 67-05-86. Or perhaps it ended in a nine. Or a five. He also had a sneaking suspicion he had missed out a two.

He had been incapable of thinking when Toby’s hands had been on him, religiously stroking and touching every part of his body. When they paused between rolling over he had got as far as ‘42’ before being drawn back in again. 

He was a true spy, now he had slept with Toby to obtain information. The guilt was heavy and impossible to ignore.

Unable to resist, Adil dragged a hand gently over Toby’s head, letting his fingers track through the dark hair. He needed to feel the spark in his chest that confirmed it had not been a means to an end.  

Toby opened one eye, looking at him with unfocused attention. He rolled onto his side, resting a hand under the covers on Adil’s knee.

Adil pressed a soft kiss to Toby’s closed eye and rolled out of the bed to find Mr D’Abberville.

*

“What is this supposed to be?” Mr D’Abberville asked, turning the paper over as if hoping to see more. They were only feet away from where Adil had kissed Toby for the first time, the corridor empty and dimly lit.

Adil tried to look stoic, wringing his hands behind his back. “That’s the best I could get,” he said. He had scribbled what he remembered onto the back of a wine label.

“Are these dates? Times?” Mr D’Abberville held the paper up, twisting it as if looking for invisible ink. “I asked for very specific information and you got _this_?”

“It is very difficult with him in the room,” Adil said quietly.

Mr D’Abberville backhanded him across the face, and Adil felt the shock of it jolt from his cheek to the end of his fingertips.

“This is _not enough_ ,” the older man hissed, waving the torn label in Adil’s face. “This isn’t anything at all! Perhaps you didn’t understand what I said earlier, about Toby’s future. Perhaps you underestimated how serious I am about your precious family.”

He reached into his dinner jack and pulled out a thinly folded piece of paper. He snapped it open so Adil could see the curving script.

“This is the letter naming you, your sister and your parents as illegal settlers in this country. It is addressed to one of my dear government pals, who wouldn’t bat an eyelid at processing this request. By the end of the week you would be nothing more to England than a distant memory.”

Adil could feel his lower lip shaking. He bit down on it harshly, refusing to be cowed.   

“He was in the room with me the entire evening,” Adil said, keeping his voice flat. “I could barely get what I did.”

“Then I suggest you endeavour to get him _out_ of the room.”

The sounds of the packed hotel bar were distant and joyful. Every time a door opened Adil could hear the snatched words of Betsy’s song over layers of laughter and conversation.

Adil nodded without commitment, staring at his shoes.  

“It’s such a shame you couldn’t have done any better,” Mr D’Abberville sighed, after a moment of silence had passed between them. “I thought you were going to be a useful friend to have, Mr Joshi. Toby’s mother is going to be so upset.”

Adil pinched his fingers together, fighting the image of Toby’s horrified face when his mother found out about their relationship. He could imagine it so clearly, as if Lady Hamilton’s screams were already filling the corridor.

Treason. Betrayal. Execution.  

Or he would never see Toby or his family again.

“I’ll do better,” Adil promised.

*

The next time he visited Toby, he was not greeted at the door.

“Come in,” Toby called after he knocked, and Adil shut the door quickly behind him. Toby was sat hunched over his desk, up to his elbows in paper.

“If you’re busy –” Adil began, but Toby waved a hand at him.

“Of course not. Just give me two seconds.”

Adil counted to two in his head and then walked over. There were pages and pages of letters and numbers covering the desk, grouped together and separated by little dashes and lines. Under Toby’s hand was a notepad, the page full of tight curving handwriting and more digits. Toby had a pencil tucked behind his ear and a pen in his hand.

“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” Adil lied, his pulse spiking. Toby was rushing to tidy away and Adil reached down to intercept his hands, bringing them chivalrously up to his mouth. Toby shot him a bemused look, pulling his hands back.

“It’s nothing I can’t do at the office. I know you’ve only got a short break.”

Twenty-five minutes and counting, Adil though bitterly. Not enough time to tumble into bed, and not nearly enough time to memorise more nonsense numbers.

He made a show of leaning down to kiss Toby, letting his eyes flick over the closest page. The handwriting in the notebook was so slanted that he couldn’t decipher a single word. His own writing was simple and blockish, the letters often a mix of capitals and lowercase. “I thought you were in the Naval Department,” he said lightly. “Exciting documents about dates and times and the names of submarines. What do all the numbers mean?”

Toby turned his face towards Adil, trying to kiss him with equal ferocity. Adil stood up straight to force an answer.

“I can’t really tell you,” Toby said apologetically. His thumb twitched on the notepad and Adil looked away, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m not trying to be rude –”

“I understand. It’s none of my business.”

Adil turned to move away but Toby caught his arm, keeping him in place. “I’d like to talk about it,” he said quietly. “Very much. I want to talk about everything with you.” His fingers stroked over the tendons of Adil’s wrist, like he was touching fine china.

 _There are things I’d like to tell you too_.   

Adil stayed very still, and tried to picture his family’s faces when they received a house call from the police. His parents would be inconsolable at the prospect of leaving, after forging a life for themselves in England. As for his sister…it would feel like an alien land, so far removed from London and everything she knew.

Adil forced himself to continue with a smile, trying to make it demure and flattering. “I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway,” he said, shifting from foot to foot.

Toby often frowned when writing, and tapped the fingers of his left hand like a metronome. Adil took this to mean that something complicated was being solved in his head.

“It’s not difficult, really,” Toby shrugged.

“Stop being modest.” Adil ran the tip of his index finger down Toby’s cheek, the same path that a tear would take if it fell. “You’re the only person who doesn’t see how clever you are.”

A faint blush tinged Toby cheeks, the reaction of someone who was not used to receiving compliments. “Anyone could do it,” Toby mumbled, looking down at his knees.  

 “I can barely count to a hundred,” Adil said. It was not an exaggeration of his mathematical difficulties. He had hated every moment of school.

Toby gave Adil’s wrist a short squeeze and then dropped it, picking up the notebook and the papers and pushing them into his briefcase.

Adil’s emotions crashed between disappointment at the missed opportunity and relief at dropping the act. He fixed his eyes on Toby’s ear, hoping the conversation was over. There was nothing else he could do; the options were out of his hands.

Just when he had begun to relax, Toby’s arm snaked round his hips, fingers tucking themselves into his waistband. His touch on Adil’s skin was so warm it was impossible not to lean into. “Are you actually interested in what I do?” Toby asked, quietly. “Or are you just teasing me?” The tone was light but the question was not. Adil could feel tension running along Toby’s forearm, waiting for an answer.

 _I’m lying. I’m a horrible, worthless liar_.

Adil looked into his eyes, feeling wretched. “I would never tease you,” he said.

Toby’s face seemed to light up, and Adil realised with a sinking sensation that no one had ever shown any interest in Toby’s work. His parents had treated the news as an inconvenience and Freddie had congratulated him with a handshake and a bland smile. To have somebody show genuine curiosity was…novel.

“I mainly work on patterns in navel traffic,” Toby said in a rush. “And data processing concerning various hits and losses.”

Adil’s heart slowed down to an unhealthy rate. “I thought you couldn’t talk about it,” he said.

Toby’s head tipped to the side, considering. “Well, not the specifics, of course. I’m just telling you the academic parts. Crunching the stats, that’s not the good bit; sometimes they let me work on _decryption_.”

Toby tapped the end of his pen against one of the endless grids of numbers that had not made it back into the case. His hand on Adil’s waist felt like it was leaving a burning impression.

“Isn’t that confidential?” Adil whispered. He felt split neatly down the middle, not sure if he should be encouraging Toby or urging him to shut up.

Toby shrugged. “What it says is confidential. How it says it is not. Do you know what encryption means?”

Adil shook his head.

“It means transforming a piece of information from one state into another. It’s keeping data suspended in patterns until the recipient can decode it.”

Adil suspected this was common knowledge among the spy community. Mr D’Abberville would likely have already decoded the entire content of the document just from reading between Toby’s splayed fingers.

“It reminds me of being at Oxford,” Toby said wistfully. “Maths and logic, in perfect unison.”

“You said it wasn’t difficult,” Adil reminded him.     

“In its most basic form, it’s not,” Toby replied. “Freddie and I used to do it as children. If the alphabet was numbered one to twenty-six, I could say to you eight, five, twelve, twelve, fifteen. It would be easy to realise that I said ‘hello.’ But if we change the value…” Toby turned his head into Adil’s side, his cheek pressing against his ribs. “I could say ten, seven, fourteen, fourteen, seventeen. Same code, moved up two places. Still ridiculously easy to guess, but that’s just an example.”

Adil pushed Toby backward an inch so he could search his expression. “That sounds too easy.”

Toby shook his head. “Kid stuff. At work we use algorithms that change regularly – even if I wanted to give you a definitive key, I couldn’t. You wouldn’t be able to work through this, for example.” He tapped a finger against the paper, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m not saying you couldn’t do it –”

“No offense taken.”

Toby turned around in his chair, so that Adil was standing squarely between his legs. “That’s only a very small part of what I do, turning letters into numbers and vice versa. For the most part it’s finding anomalies in pages and pages of boring journey times.” He grinned at Adil, the expression light and easy. “I look forward to the mathematics. In a strange way it connects me to Freddie. Hearing from the front lines –”

“Don’t tell me anything else,” Adil said, balling his hands in Toby’s shirt. He should be encouraging the conversation, smiling and pressing for further details. The thought made him feel sick.

“You don’t have to be worried,” Toby said, prying Adil’s fingers off his shirt and threading their fingers together. “I would never say anything that could get you into trouble.” He pressed a kiss against Adil’s solar-plexus, mumbling his next words against his waistcoat. “It’s just nice to tell you.”

The entire conversation was making Adil’s stomach turn.

_Tell him, now. He’ll understand. It’s not too late._

“Come to bed,” Adil said, hoarsely.

Toby smiled at him widely. “So some people _do_ find intelligence attractive. Good to know.”

“I mean it. Come here.”   

Before Adil could bend down to kiss him, Toby took the pencil stub from behind his ear and ripped out a fresh notebook page. He looked at Adil for a few seconds, his eyes jumping from one feature to the next. He bent over the desk and wrote down a short series of numbers interspersed with dashes and lines. He finished the last number with a flick and surveyed his work, checking for invisible errors.   

“There you go,” Toby said, after a moment’s hesitation. He folded the page and poked it into the waistband of Adil’s trousers.  

Adil clenched his fingers around nothing, feeling lost. “What is it?” he asked, not wanting to know.

“Your first code-cracking lesson, 101.” Toby stood and stretched, pushing a soft kiss to Adil’s mouth. “Or a riddle to keep you up at night.”

*

On his way back down to the staff quarters, Adil stared at the numbers Toby had given him. There was only one line of them, but they seemed to swim about the page and multiply until his eyes ached.

12 / 4-16 / 12-17 / 15-18-25-8 / 26-12-23-11 / 2-18-24

It was meaningless, and he had to pause briefly on the second floor to wait for the feeling of nausea to pass.

While Toby had used the bathroom, Adil had stumbled to the desk and yanked out a handful of paper, looking frantically for something useable. He found one page that looked different to the others, so he had tried to remember the first fourteen digits that had caught his eye.

He placed Toby’s encrypted message alongside his letter from Riya in his pocket so it could not be lost.

At eight O’clock he excused himself from the bar, telling Tom he needed to fetch something from the back room. He wanted the younger barman to call him back, or question him, but Tom just nodded and smiled.

*

Mr D’Abberville looked at the note silently for several minutes. Adil watched his grey eyes flick backwards and forwards over the digits, his mouth twitching.

“These are more useful,” he said at last.

“What are they?” Adil asked, oblivious to what he had transcribed. He had picked a page at random, hoping that it was somehow unimportant.

Mr D’Abberville did not say anything, flashing him a shark-like grin. He stood up straight, towering over Adil as he adjusted his shirt sleeves. He looked very much like every other entitled man in the bar, his eyes alive with one-upmanship.  

“What they are is none of your concern,” he said. “Now we are going to need more. Much more.”

*

Adil did not quite know how he was able to do it, but slowly he began to gather information. It mainly relied on Toby bathing and combing his hair in the bathroom, something Adil could now time to the nearest second.

It was difficult, and still caused anxiety to grip his throat like a choke-hold, but it was doable.

Mr D’Abberville did not always accept what he brought, often dismissing it as ‘useless rubbish’. After an entire week of memorising Toby’s notes, Adil had had enough.

“I’m not giving you anything else,” he said resolutely. It was too draining on his emotional state – Toby had recently remarked that he looked depressed, and Adil had been forced to fake a story about family illness.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr D’Abberville snapped. He was physically bigger than Adil, but his social standing was more intimidating. Even after so long around the rich and titled, the upper classes made Adil nervous.

“I’m not doing it. I can’t get anything else.”

He was pushed roughly into the wine racks, the metal slamming against his back. “You should think very carefully about who you’re talking to,” Mr D’Abberville advised him. His breath smelt of bourbon and cigarettes. “Very carefully indeed.”

The proximity between them made Adil cower, hating himself for the defeat.  

Mr D’Abberville patted him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you at nine O’clock tomorrow morning, Mr Joshi.” 

*

After his shift had ended, Adil crept back up to Toby’s room and knocked on the door. He did not make a habit of staying over, but if he was to obtain something else by the morning he would have to.

Toby opened the door with a surprised smile. “Three times in one day?” he said, standing aside so Adil could walk in.

There were no documents out on Toby’s desk, and the briefcase was not in its usual position. Instead a book was laying open on the bed sheets and a glass of wine was on the nightstand.

“I wanted to see you,” Adil said, his throat tight. This time Toby had not brought work home with him, and Adil could not believe his bad luck. He hung his jacket on the back of the door, turning the lock as he did so. “I didn’t want to go home. I needed to…” he trailed off, lost for words. Perhaps it was better to say nothing at all; to stop digging his own grave.

Toby’s hand came up to cup his face, his eyes searching. “What’s wrong?” he asked, quietly.

Adil forced his lips to pull up into a smile. He placed his hands around Toby’s waist, wondering what it would feel like to dance with him. He would soon be under arrest, and all their possibilities would be over.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said softly. He moved his hand from Toby’s waist to his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his hand inside. Toby caught his wrist and held it, preventing him from going further. There was a pronounced crease between his eyebrows.

“You can tell me,” Toby said. “You know I would never judge you. Not for anything.”

Adil had to stop himself from laughing in anxiety. “My family,” he said, still trying to push his hand past the button of Toby’s trousers.

Toby took him by both hands and dragged them until they were sat on the bed. When they were side by side he pushed a hand through Adil’s hair, looking at him apprehensively.

“Has someone died?”

His father had a history of mental instability, and Adil could perfectly imagine him jumping off whatever ocean liner they tried to put him on. His mother’s heart would break, and Riya would be forced to look after her into old age.

“No,” he said, trying to divorce his voice from his feelings. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m being a fool.”

Toby’s hand in his hair felt peaceful. He shut his eyes and leant into the touch, feeling his heart splintering at the contact. Toby’s hand travelled down over his ear and chin, coming up to stroke a careful finger under his eye.

“You can tell me,” he said again, firmly.

Adil toyed with the notion of coming clean. Toby would hate him, certainly want nothing more to do with him, but it would be over. Adil would be placed into police custody alongside Mr D’Abberville, to await trial. Maybe Toby would come to the execution, out of a twisted sense of loyalty. 

_Toby, I never wanted this._

“Would you do something bad,” Adil mumbled, unable to stop the thought. “Something you knew you shouldn’t do…to protect your family?”

Toby’s hand continued its path across his face, tracing down his nose and cheeks. “I would,” he said, simply.

Adil opened his eyes to look at him. Toby looked back, perfectly calm. After a few seconds he undid the top button of Adil’s shirt and made him shuffle backwards so they were both sitting against the headboard.

Without another word he opened his book, the arm which was not turning pages curving around Adil’s shoulders.

*

When he woke up, Adil was alone under the cold and heavy sheets. Toby was seated at the desk, his back curved as he scribbled notes.

“Why do I never wake when you get up?” Adil mumbled, forcing his legs out of the bed. “You move like a shadow.”

Toby put down his pen, looking fresher than Adil felt. “You needed the sleep. You work far harder than I do.”

It wasn’t true but Adil couldn’t be bothered to argue. Mr D’Abberville would be at the bar in less than an hour and he had nothing to show for his efforts.

“Let’s take a bath,” he suggested, his voice still tight from sleep.

Toby looked at him doubtfully. “The tub really isn’t big enough for two. You can have first turn, if you like. Besides, I need to finish this.” He gestured at the small piece of paper under his hand.

Adil pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off his building headache. “Just take off your clothes,” he said.

Toby looked at him for several seconds, and Adil was sure he was going to refuse. As the stare continued however, Toby reluctantly stood up and untied his dressing gown. He gave Adil a sarcastic salute before pulling the pyjama shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.  

Adil tried to convince himself he wasn’t the worst person in the world.

 _He would do the same to protect Freddie_ , he reminded himself, as Toby walked past into the bathroom. As quietly as possible he crept over to Toby’s desk, turning the page around as he listened to the taps running. 

It was a letter. A boring, personal letter to Freddie about the day-to-day happenings of the hotel. Adil tried to maintain his composure, and not rip the paper to a hundred shreds as he wanted to.

“Are you coming?” Toby called, and Adil dropped the page, his hands shaking hard.

“Just a moment,” he replied. He pulled out a drawer of the desk, looking for anything useful. There was nothing inside except writing equipment: envelopes, pencils, sheets of blank letter pages…

“Adil.” Toby was in the doorway. Adil turned on the spot, shutting the drawer with a horrendously loud bang. He put on his best barman smile, polite and ready to please. Toby frowned.

“Are you…going through my stuff?”

“ _No_ ,” Adil said, heart jackhammering inside his chest. “You’re not as interesting as you think you are. I was just…getting something.” He reached for the desk and grabbed the nearest object. He held the paperweight up so Toby could see, pulse rushing. “My trousers have a crease. I needed something heavy.”

Toby was looking at him with a shewed look, his arms crossed. “If you’re planning to kill me I’d rather you used the letter opener,” he said, after a beat. “Less mess.”

Adil forced himself to maintain his smile. He walked over to his trousers and placed the paperweight on top of the hem fastidiously.

Toby shook his head and ducked back into the bathroom. “Hurry up,” he said.

Adil trailed after him, willing his body to relax. His heart felt terrifyingly small.

*

“Mr D’Abberville is waiting for you at the bar,” Tom told him, the second Adil made it back downstairs. The junior barman was wearing a worried look, probably thinking that Adil was about to receive a reprimand.

Adil nodded to Tom, indicating that he understood.

There was nothing to be done. He had no information, no war office gossip, nothing whatsoever to save himself or his family. He should have given Toby a longer kiss before he left, should have made the goodbye more meaningful. It would be his last day before he was exposed and arrested.

Adil straightened his bowtie, making sure he was presentable.

He pushed through the servants’ door and walked towards Mr D’Abberville. The man looked up as Adil approached, a sardonic smile on his face.

“Mr Joshi,” he greeted, warmly. “How is our mutual friend this morning?”

Adil had left Toby half dressed, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. “Fine,” he said tightly.

“I’m glad to see you’ve reconsidered your position,” Mr D’Abberville said, considering his whiskey with interest. “You really are such a good boy.”

Adil didn’t know what to say to that. Whatever he had given the day before – two lines of gibberish half-remembered and transcribed – had been enough.

But he would need another day. Just one more day.

“The new dates are in my coat pocket,” Adil mumbled, the lie forming on the spot. “Let me just…” He turned and hurried away, ignoring the older man’s hisses of incompetence and time wasting. The second that the door closed Adil scrambled to the switchboard station, the nearest room which contained paper.

After grabbing a pen he paused, unable to think.

What did Mr D’Abberville need? Dates, times, coordinates, tip offs; things that Adil did not really understand. With a shaking hand he wrote down several lines of made-up dates, ensuring that they were at least a week away.

“Submarine refuelling schedules,” he said shortly, when he slapped the paper into Mr D’Abberville’s hand. “Coordinates for the changeovers at the bottom.”

It was a bold lie, and Adil had to keep his hands carefully pressed together to stop them trembling.

“Not your usual,” Mr D’Abberville said, and Adil crossed his fingers in the pocket of his trousers. “I will need to have these checked, Mr Joshi.”       

*

When Adil knocked on Toby’s door that night, it was flung open with the usual speed. He was permitted to walk in of his own accord before Toby’s hands came up to cradle his face.

Adil smiled at him, trying to reconnect to a feeling of happiness untainted by corruption.

“You look better,” Toby said over his shoulder, as he moved back to his desk. Adil could see only one page in front of him, full of Toby’s small writing. Knowing his luck it would be another letter.

Adil followed Toby to his chair, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I am, as ever, perfectly fine,” he said. The fake dates had granted him a short grace period but they would soon unravel.

“You didn’t seem fine last night. When you fell asleep you kicked me in the shins, like you were having a nightmare.”

Adil let go of Toby’s shoulder, the awkwardness returning.

“Was it about your parents?”

Adil shook his head, not wishing to discuss it. “You work too hard,” he mumbled, moving the conversation away from himself.

He had noticed that it was not a letter under Toby’s hand. The word INVENTORY was peeking out from behind Toby’s thumb, and the document seemed to be a list of varying equipment and expenses.

“You didn’t mind before.” Toby tilted his head back so they were face to face. “‘Interesting’ you called it.”

“It is interesting,” Adil said, quietly. “Although it still looks like a foreign language to me.” He tried to catch a further glimpse of the page but Toby’s hand was pressed over it casually. He placed a hand between Toby’s shoulder blades instead, trying to pretend that he was caressing rather than leaning further forward.

“It is a kind of language,” Toby agreed.

“One I can’t seem to learn.”

Toby placed the page into his case and flipped the top shut. To his despair Adil heard a faint click, meaning that the lock had engaged. There was now nothing he could do to get to the data, as he had no idea where Toby kept the key.

Toby brought up a hand to rest over Adil’s. “You’re not supposed to learn it. That’s my job.”

“You did hand me a coded note.”

 Toby paused. After a moment of thought he sighed and kissed the back of their joined hands. “A moment of weakness, wanting to appear clever in front of you. It wasn’t exactly the co-ordinates to sink British subs.”

Adil forced an involuntary laugh. “Well that’s good news.”

They were both quiet for a few moments. Adil was trying to build enough courage to say ‘tell me what you did at work this afternoon’ in as breezy a style as possible.

“How do I work out what the note means?” he asked. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the folded paper. He thought he saw Toby’s face soften, like he was surprised that Adil had bothered to keep it.

Toby took the page from his fingertips, gently unfolding it. “It’s just a line of nonsense,” he said.

“Nonsense that I would like to read.”

“Get to it then.”

“I don’t know _how_.” Adil had examined the numbers a hundred times, but his mind always stayed perfectly blank. They remained as random digits, no letters or words emerging. He was humiliated to find that the experience took him back to his brief stint of schooling, being scorned by his teacher and ignored by the other pupils.

Toby looked between Adil and his own writing. “It’s something very simple,” he mumbled.

“Said the Oxford graduate to the barman.”

Toby pulled a pencil out of his top pocket. Leaning the paper on the back of his hand, he circled the first number.

“The number twelve is on its own. Which means…”

Adil stared at him, none the wiser.

Toby sighed. “That it’s a single letter. It's not a sophisticated code, you know. Just playground stuff. Easy.”

Adil craned his neck to see the numbers too, ignoring the snub. “So it’s ‘A’ something…”

“It’s ‘I’ something. And don’t cheat.”

Adil dropped his head forwards, banging against Toby’s collarbone. He wasn’t made for academic work. Even basic puzzles and riddles were beyond his range.

“So…” he tried, looking hard at the paper. “If ‘I’ is twelve…” It was making his eyes water. Toby looked at him expectantly, his expression one of challenge. “There are…two more twelves here. They’re both ‘I’ as well?”

“My clever boy,” Toby said, his mouth broadening into a smile. He folded the paper back up and pushed it into Adil’s top pocket. “Class dismissed. You’ve got all you need.”

Adil stared at Toby’s bright eyes, trying to force his mind to move in the way it was supposed to. “I still don’t understand,” he said uselessly, after nothing new revealed itself.

Toby raised one of Adil’s hands to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss to the palm. Adil took that to mean that he would never crack the code, and Toby was perfectly alright with that.

“So how was work this afternoon –” Adil tried, but Toby closed the distance between them with a kiss.

*

Each time they made love got slightly better in Adil’s opinion. The first time had been messy and uncoordinated, Toby a bundle of nerves under his hands. They had been hurried along by passion and brought to an abrupt stop by inexperience.

“It’s only the first time for _one_ of us,” Toby had mumbled afterwards, face down into a pillow. Adil had found the entire experience thrilling despite its brevity. A flush had spread over Toby’s whole body; Adil could see it from the top of his neck to his tail bone.

“You were wonderful,” Adil assured him, stroking careful hands down his spine. His own first time had been painful and quick, leaving his body coiled in pain. It didn’t seem necessary to share that experience. Seeing Toby’s wide-eyed awkwardness under him had set Adil’s bones on fire.

They progressed night by night, gaining new ground. What began as lust-fuelled compulsion slowed down into something drawn out and magnetic. When they were naked and in bed Toby didn’t seem to want to stop kissing him, connecting their bodies from head to toe. Adil had no problem with that. It was like submitting to the pull of a strong tide.

Watching Toby afterwards was also part of the show. Adil liked to prop himself up on his side and take it all in: the heaving stomach, the drooping eyes, the pink tinge which covered his neck and chest. “Stop looking at me,” Toby had mumbled the first few times.

“I can’t,” Adil said simply, and they left it at that.   

Adil wondered if he made love differently under the threat of blackmail. Perhaps he performed better than before, the movements edged with desperation. His hands were nervous and darting, a mimic of how Toby’s had been at the beginning, his body acting only on instinct.

That evening Toby asked him about the bruise on his lip, which had blossomed since Mr D’Abberville had shoved him against the cellar shelves.

Adil had given a vague answer, and then rocked them together until Toby crashed over the edge, muffling a shout into the palm of his hand.

It was brilliant, suffocating, too intense.

Adil stared at the boy beside him, watching Toby’s eyelids blink slowly.

“What are you thinking about?” Toby asked, catching his expression.

 _Nothing_. It was becoming a reflex to lie no matter what the question. Toby was quizzing him more by the day, asking about his anxious expressions and tired eyes. Adil didn’t know how much longer he could keep the charade going.

_Just a little longer. One more day._

Adil’s mind, as it so often did now, drifted to far away troops. Most of them were barely out of their teens, eager to fight for a patriotic cause. They would soon be churned into cannon fodder, just as thousands like them had been before.

His nightmare that had woken Toby several nights ago had been about Freddie.

Freddie Hamilton’s body to be exact, tangled around the corpse of a spitfire. In the dream Adil had known it was his fault, the burden of responsibility jolting him awake.

Adil pressed an arm over his face, unable to look at Toby. What if something he had stolen had already caused irreparable damage? A boatful of men sunk in the Atlantic, or a place of safety exposed and bombed?    

He deserved to hang, if that was the case. His parents would be safe in India, and Toby would be better off alone. 

Toby pulled his arm away from his face, frowning as he waited for a reply. He reached over and brushed his knuckles over Adil’s ribs, stroking up and down.

Adil leaned forwards quickly and brought their mouths together. He found Toby’s hand under the covers and grabbed onto it, holding too tightly.

Toby mumbled something against his mouth and Adil broke them apart. It was hard to maintain eye contact but Adil forced himself to do it anyway. It felt like staring into a very bright spotlight.

“Tell me,” Toby said, his expression serious.

_Tell him. Tell him. Tell him._

“I’ve done something unforgiveable,” Adil replied.


	2. Chapter 2

“What have you done?” Toby asked.

Adil rolled over and got out of the bed, tugging on his underwear. The words didn’t want to come, his throat as tight and uncooperative as a choke hold. He looked at his feet.

Toby stood up too, pulling his dressing gown over his shoulders. Where a few seconds earlier the mood had been relaxed and comfortable, a chill had abruptly descended. Adil’s shoulders jerked in rhythmic shivers, like Toby had pushed him outside to stand naked on the streets.

“Do you need money?” Toby said quietly.

Adil shook his head, the misery steadily building. He had hoped that Toby knew he would never accept a handout, preferring to die of poverty than use their relationship as a means of additional ‘wages’.    

“Have you said something indiscreet?” Toby said, his mind flicking to the next awful thing. “Does someone know about –”

“No.” The staff hall was full of idle gossip, but none of it concerned them. By the morning the words on everyone’s lips would be that Adil Joshi had been dismissed, pending an investigation by the immigration department.

Toby did not relax after each fear was dismissed. If anything his shoulders hunched tighter, fearing the unknown. Adil forced himself to meet Toby’s eye.

“I don’t want your money. And I hope you know that I would never tell another soul without your permission.”

Even _with_ Toby’s blessing he would never utter the words to anybody.

Toby crossed his arms over his chest, the move defensive. “Then tell me,” he said shortly. “It’s nothing we can’t fix.”

Guilt still had its hands wrapped around Adil’s throat. “You won’t want to see me again,” he managed to say, the words slightly mangled. “You’ll force me to leave and –”

“Tell me anyway.”

Toby was watching him with careful eyes. He stayed on the other side of the bed, a healthy distance separating them. The confidence he tried to project into the words fell short.

It was too much too fast. If he told the truth Adil knew he would be ejected from Toby’s life completely.

Adil racked his brain for a convincing lie. He would admit to something small and innocuous, and they would laugh at how out of proportion his reaction had been. Having brought the subject up, he could just as easily close it down.

Except Toby was looking at him fixedly, waiting for the truth. His fingers were drumming fast on his forearms before he caught Adil watching the movements and forced himself to stop. He instead picked up the cord of the dressing gown and wrapped it around his hand, the strength of the grip turning his skin bloodless and white.

“Have you gone to the press?”

The accusation caught Adil off-guard. “I would never do that,” he said firmly. Causing Toby harm in such a public way was unthinkable.

“Then I can’t think of anything else that could be half as bad.”

Adil tried to nod but couldn’t. The press would find out about Toby anyway, when Mr D’Abberville discovered he had broken their deal.

“Just _tell me_.”

There was steel under the words, the voice of a gentleman disciplining a member of staff. Adil almost wanted to stand to attention, his body straightening compulsively from a lifetime of service. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he was in his underwear, and that encouraged a timid and slightly hunched posture. 

“What I’ve done,” Adil began, forcing himself not to fidget. “It was not done to hurt you. Nor to hurt this country, or anyone –”

“Adil.”

Toby’s eyes were sharp and intense, searching his face. The words ‘this country’ seemed to have captured his attention most of all. The tightness in his expression made Adil want to drop to his knees and beg.

“I had no choice,” he blurted, stumbling over the words. He hoped Toby would understand. He hoped Toby will forgive him, and reassure him, and tell him what to do next. If Toby looked at him in hatred the world would smash into a million pieces.

“I stole information from your briefcase.”

There was a heavy silence after the words left his lips.

Toby was staring at him, a piece of hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t seem furious, or shocked, or confused. He looked blank, as if the words had not touched him at all.

“I stole from you,” Adil said, just to make certain he had been heard. “I passed along various data to – to my blackmailer. But I swear it was –”

Toby held up a hand, and the action stopped Adil as easily as a gag.

“Who?” Toby said shortly.

Adil bowed his head, wanting the floor to swallow him. “Mr D’Abberville,” he mumbled.

Toby’s screwed his eyes shut, and Adil could almost see his brain putting the pieces together. His hands gripped each other, clasped tight as though in prayer.

“How many times?”

It was not the question Adil had expected first. “Each time you left the room,” he admitted. “Every day for the last eight days.” A look of hurt passed over Toby’s face, his mouth a thin line. Adil could feel his own face contorting in response. “It’s been so difficult –”

“To steal from me? Oh yes, poor you.”

“To _keep_ this from you.”

Emotion had begun to crack through Toby’s mask. A muscle beneath his eye twitched and his face had a blotchy tinge, as if anger was seething just below the surface. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, and Adil could barely catch the words. “Out of everyone I know, you would never –”

Adil took a step forwards, intending to close the gap between them. Toby took an automatic step back.

“Don’t.”

The command stopped Adil abruptly. His stomach was heaving with breaths that seemed to contain no oxygen.   

“Toby –”

“ _Why_?” The word was loaded with emotion. Toby was looking at Adil as if he had never seen him clearly before, blinded by lust or naivety. Adil wanted to shake him, force their faces together, make Toby see how genuine every moment had been.

The word ‘why’ was like an unexploded bomb, and the importance of it made Adil tongue-tied.

_To save you_ , Adil thought desperately, pulse rate rocketing. _To keep your life from imploding as mine is about to_.

“My family,” he managed to choke. “To keep them here. To keep them safe.”

To keep his sister’s wedding on track. To keep his parents in their tiny Brixton apartment. To keep life moving forwards, even if he wasn’t part of it.

Toby rubbed a hand over his face, pushing hard against his eyes. Adil was still waiting for him to shout, or swear, or turn over the furniture. This confused frustration was far worse, quiet and teeming with questions.

“You told me you didn’t talk to your family.”

“I don’t.” They were still his though, in the same way that Lord Hamilton had been Toby’s. His sister’s wedding invitation had come after a five-year absence of communication. It was an unexpected effort.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Toby said, his eyes flashing. “You stole information you didn’t understand, and gave it to someone you don’t trust. All of that to benefit the family you no longer speak to.”

Adil nodded. “And for you,” he said, quietly.

Toby held up his hand again, as if Adil were too much for him to deal with. “Don’t you dare say this was for me. Don’t even think it.”

“Your reputation –”

“I don’t _care_ about my reputation!” Toby’s hands reached into the air in front of him, as though he wanted nothing more than to shake Adil by the shoulders. “The only things I’ve ever cared about are my job and _you_. Both of which I will now lose.”

The word ‘lose’ reverberated in Adil’s skull. “They won’t trace the leaks back to you,” he whispered, ignoring the other part of the statement.

Toby looked at him as though he was out of his mind. “So when the German’s suddenly know our troop movements, and our supply drop offs, and send bombs to destroy our countrymen – you _don’t_ think there’ll be an investigation?” He turned away, hands raking over his face. “My job is over. Those documents could be duplicated anywhere, used as fish and chip paper in Germany for all we know. And _you_ …”

“I’m yours,” Adil said miserably, fighting against the urge to curl in on himself and sink to the floor. “Toby, I’m yours.” The corners of his eyes felt hot and constricted.

Toby turned to look at him, devoid of pity.

“You’re anyone’s, apparently, if they make a few half-hearted threats.”

Adil forced himself to put aside his fear, shoving it deep inside. He looked at Toby with as much strength as he could, and remembered holding the other boy’s hands under the bed sheets.

“It was wrong,” he said, their eyes locked on one another. “A terrible, badly planned mistake. But I did this, all of this, to protect –”

“‘All of this’?” Toby said, voice low. He took a step towards Adil, moving from his side of the bed. “Clarify that. Now.”      

Adil opened his mouth, flustered.

Toby took another step, leaving only a meter of space between them.

“It wasn’t from the beginning,” Adil stammered, understanding the implication. “Of course it wasn’t. We had a connection. I took a chance –”

“And yet you and Mr D’Abberville came into my life at exactly the same time,” Toby spoke over him. “You’d been working here for years before he showed up, and you never gave me a second glance. And then suddenly…”

Adil closed his eyes, unable to understand how the situation had gone so wrong. He had watched Toby for years before Mr D’Abberville appeared in the hotel. It had been a private game, an innocent fantasy. There was no way of proving it.

“It was real,” Adil said, taking a bold step forward and reaching for Toby’s hand. He held it tightly, his own clamminess mirrored back at him. “I swear it.”

Toby let his hand be held, not attempting to return the grip. He was swaying back and forth like he was adrift at sea. The anger seemed to have been replaced by a hollow misery that overtook his whole body. His fringe was damp with sweat, his eyes were focused on something invisible over Adil’s shoulder.

“I’ve always accepted that when girls come and talk to me, or dance with me, or drink with me, that they have an agenda,” Toby said, the words flat. “I’m comfortably well off, and from good family too. They want a marriage in the society pages of the newspaper. They don’t want me – it’s _never_ about me. My personality is beside the point. I had accepted it.”

Adil’s breath was punched out of his lungs by the maudlin declaration.

“But then there was you,” Toby sighed, still not looking at Adil. His eyes were fixed on the wallpaper on the far wall, the words brought forth like he was thinking aloud. “And it was horrifying, and awful, to discover that I will never be happy with the life I was born into. You forced yourself into my life. You had nothing to gain from being with me, except prison time and social exile. So I just…trusted you. Instantly. Without knowing a thing about you.”

_Please_ , Adil wanted to shout. He settled for tightening his hold on Toby’s hand, feeling his knuckles click against the strain. It was painful, and after a few seconds Toby winced and looked at him. His dark eyes were muddled with something that made Adil’s stomach drop.

“I want you to leave,” Toby said.

Adil didn’t move – couldn’t – and when Toby pulled his arm away Adil moved with it, caught like a fish on a line. Toby used his other hand to pry their fingers apart, leaving Adil’s hand to close around nothing.

Toby stooped to pick up Adil’s trousers and waistcoat, grabbing them off the floor. He shoved them into Adil’s arms unceremoniously, bending to pick up his shirt as well.

Adil let the clothes drop, reaching to grab Toby’s shoulder. The other boy slid away from him like water, sending him an incredulous look.

“If you don’t leave of your own accord I will be forced to telephone the front desk.” The lie was told without pause or hesitation.

“I did not orchestrate us,” Adil said, as Toby picked up his clothes and dumped them into his arms a second time. “Toby, I would never do that. I –”

Toby walked over to the door and opened it. The action made Adil’s throat constrict. The door was their only protection from hotel guests walking past and seeing in. If Toby was willing to leave it ajar while both of them were semi-dressed…

Adil tightened his grip on his crumpled clothes. He could only see one shoe so took that, not bothering to look for the other one.

Toby stood rigidly, waiting for him to leave. His expression was pinched, trying to let nothing else through. Adil noticed that his eyes were bloodshot from the strain of keeping it together.

Before the door could be shut on him, Adil shot out a quick hand to grip Toby’s elbow. “It was real,” he said urgently. “I promise it was all real.”

Toby stepped back and closed the door.

* 

Adil dressed himself outside Toby’s room, trying to keep his emotions in check. He could break down properly when he was out of the hotel, ideally in his own bed. Having only one shoe was a problem. He didn’t have his socks either, so he was forced to hobble down the stairs with one bare foot.

He saw no one he knew as he made his way out of the servants exit. The night was bright and clear, and Adil felt the emotions of the last ten minutes crash down upon him.

He had lost Toby.

He had broken his agreement with Mr D’Abberville, and his family would pay the price.

Within a day he would lose his job, and then his flat.

Adil put his head in his hands and spluttered out a quiet sob. His foot was freezing cold, the pavement wet on his exposed skin. The entire way back to his flat he tired to think of an exit strategy, and couldn’t.

* 

Perhaps it was better, more honourable, to do the job himself. 

The gas fire would take half an hour at most to complete the task, whereas the rope would be lonely and shameful. He also didn’t think he could bear to see Mr D’Abberville again, in his last moments.

Adil sat on his bed and poured a whisky.

After a while he stood and began to tidy the flat, putting everything in its proper place. It was a single room and Adil had very few possessions. It was still important to leave it in an orderly way, so as not to cause additional stress to whoever found him.

The few pictures and ornaments he would leave to Riya, for her new life with her partner. He had nothing that he imagined his parents would want, except the plates and bowls his mother had given him as a moving in gift. It seemed rude to give them back, even if he wouldn’t need them anymore.

He found a pencil but no paper to write a short letter on. He had never needed to write anything down in the two years he had lived there.

A note on the wall was crude, and he couldn’t be sure that his land lord would not paint over it after finding his body, intending to spare his dignity. Besides that, what would he say? An apology? Or perhaps the address of the Halcyon so they could collect his last wage packet.

Scribbling on the wallpaper was not a good enough solution for a note to Toby.

_Toby_. _Toby. Toby._ The name in his mind sent him off kilter, the room spinning in a delirious way.

_Toby, I’m sorry. Toby, I meant every word that I ever said to you. Please believe me. Toby, I need you to know…_

Adil poured another glass of whisky, knocking it back with a wince.

There were only two pieces of paper in his possession. The first was a wedding invitation, every inch of which was filled with large handwriting and his address.

Adil placed a hand in his pocket, feeling for the other. It was the small scrap of paper Toby had passed to him four days ago. He pulled it out, hands trembling.

Could he really write on the back of it? The page felt sacred now, a relic of trust.

He ran his finger over the numbers, pretending they were words of acceptance and forgiveness. He had never worked out what they really said. It had seemed impossible, and his mind had been filled with fear and urgency.

Did he want to spend his last evening on earth working out an obscure code?

Adil took another sip of whiskey, taking the page across to his small table. It was a message from Toby. His last _ever_ message from Toby. It was worth doing. He sat down and stared at the numbers, at the way Toby’s handwriting tilted all the way over to the right.

 9 / 1-13 / 9-14 / 12-15-22-5 / 23-18-20-8 / 25-15-21

His brain was not working properly. It was filled with the noise of Toby saying ‘Tell me’, moments before the trust drained from his eyes.

The whisky was bitter and cheap. Adil pushed the glass away, taking a pull from the bottle instead. He would wait for the world to blur before turning on the gas – the coward’s way out.

Above the first number on the page was the letter ‘I’. It was all he had to go on.

“ _I_ am sorry Toby,” Adil muttered, the drink loosening his jaw. “ _I_ don’t know how to crack codes. _I_ am not as clever as you.”

Adil rubbed both hands over his face, feeling exhausted. What had Toby said to him, when he was giddy and light and excited to be explaining himself? _If the alphabet was numbered one to twenty-six…_

Not having enough room on the page, Adil copied the alphabet onto the wooden surface of the table, getting stuck and frustrated after ‘P’. He tried to sing the song in his head, but he had wilfully forgotten most of what he had been taught in school. He made it to ‘Z’ with great difficulty, taking another pull of whisky.

After writing the numbers underneath however, he quickly saw that ‘I’ was not number twelve, but the number nine.

Adil dropped his head onto the table, getting a splinter for his trouble. Perhaps Toby had gotten it wrong. He had written it quickly, not paying much attention. It was an unsolvable mess, not the coded secret Adil wanted it to be.

But Toby wouldn’t make that sort of mistake.

Adil got up and walked around the room, willing his heart to calm down. His brain kept falling into depressed loops of thought, getting stuck on the image of Toby twisting the signet ring around his finger or grinning when he opened the bedroom door.  

Adil forced himself to sit back down and look back at the letters, trying to make his thoughts fit together as Toby’s would. _If you move the order up by several places…_

He crossed out the line of numbers and started with twelve instead, writing it shakily under the ‘I’. He worked his way along, making ‘J’ thirteen, ‘K’ fourteen, ‘L’ fifteen and finally looping back on himself when the letters ran out.

His hands were shaking from the whisky.

He began to place the correct letters under Toby’s writing, his confidence growing after the first three words.

I – AM – IN / 12-15-22-5 / 23-18-20-8 / 25-15-21

Had Toby known he would work it out? Probably not. He had referred to it as a moment of weakness, jotting down a line of nonsense. Adil’s pencil faltered over the letter ‘L’ in the fourth word, and came to a complete stop after the letter ‘O’.

He had to shut his eyes, and pretend that Toby was next to him, a reassuring hand on his waist.

This was not the way he wanted to discover that Toby Hamilton loved him.

He forced the pencil to keep going, filling in the last two words. When he was done Adil checked it three times, fingers tapping anxiously against the whisky bottle.

I / AM / IN / LOVE / WITH / YOU.

The translation was irrefutable, and unexpected…and wrong.

Eyes burning from the alcohol Adil crossed out the word ‘AM’ and wrote ‘WAS’. His handwriting was terrible, but the note looked more authentic.

Toby Hamilton _had_ been in love with him. Past tense. Over now. Gone.

Adil walked over to the gas tap, gripping the cold metal as hard as he could. Toby had loved him several days ago, when he had been bright and affectionate and shown an interest in his work.

Toby had _loved_ him.

Adil bowed his head, and turned the valve to the ‘on’ position. He waited for several minutes, breathing shallowly, and then twisted it off again. He pulled it back and forth, unable to fully commit to either action.

Adil had had a romantic entanglement before, involving a lot of fumbling and swearing in the alley outside an East London pub. It had been brief and educational, and the man had sought him out four times after. But those were blunders in the dark, ending with a pat on the back and a word of thanks.  

It was nothing close to _this_. This messy, secret, painful connection he had with Toby.

Adil had resisted saying besotted words, knowing that if things went sour it would be easier to deny everything. Aside from that, thousands of servants throughout history had fallen in love with their masters. Nothing ever came of it.

_I am in love with you._

“Me too,” Adil said experimentally, the gas tap turned to ‘on’. He almost wanted to look over his shoulder, to check no one had heard him.

Adil ran his mind over everything that had happened since Toby had passed him the note. They had smiled and talked and kissed and touched and whispered and slept and had sex. Nothing had seemed any different to before. In fact it had been completely the same.

Meaning that perhaps – just maybe –Toby Hamilton had been in love with him for longer than four days.

Adil twisted the gas tap to ‘off’, letting himself fall backwards onto the floor.

He was a traitor and an immigrant and a lowly waiter about to hang for treason. But Toby had been silently, privately, loving him.

*

Adil woke at five O’clock on the floor of his flat. He washed quickly, trying to remove the smell of whisky and poor decisions.

Today was a new day. There was a strong possibility that Toby wouldn’t want to see him, but Adil felt two inches taller for having Toby’s note clutched in his hand. It was proof that things could be good, however bad he had made them.

With shaking fingers he copied his own message, writing it onto the back of the original note. Some of the numbers bent the wrong way and he had to cross them out and start again.

 23-18-5-2 / 12 / 4-16 / 22-18 / 22-18-21-21-2

He hoped it said TOBY / I / AM / SO / SORRY but he might have gotten it completely wrong. He wished codes were as simple as drinks.

Toby would probably put it straight in the bin, or else not see it at all, stepping over it in the morning when he left for work. The words were short and uninspired but it had taken Adil all morning to compose. By the time he finished he was running late.

He had also forgotten about the missing shoe.

Mr Garland would skin him alive for wearing anything other than black but there was nothing to be done; he tugged on his ratty brown pair.

Adil skidded into the hotel just before nine, running past Tom on the stairs.

“You’re late,” Tom said cheerfully, as Adil yanked off his jacket and put on his blazer.

“Two minutes early,” Adil corrected, doing up his bowtie. “Is – er, Mr D’Abberville waiting for me?”

Tom gave him a funny look. “Should he be?” Adil shook his head quickly and Tom took pity on him. “He’s in the Atrium, I think. Reading a paper.”

There was never any reason for Adil to go into the Atrium. His area, as Mr Garland had explained to him on his first day, was ‘the bar and nowhere else’.

His job for the morning should have been counting their liquor stock, but Adil hoped no one would miss him. He needed to meet Mr D’Abberville and look him in the eyes, to tell him that it was all over. There was nothing else he could threaten, because now that Toby knew he would have already telephoned the police.

Adil was on the staff stairs to the Atrium when he heard a commotion on the other side of the door. Albert, who’s voice was usually so calm and monotone when handing out room keys, said “Excuse me gentlemen, may I ask the reason for your visit?” Perhaps a couple of rowdy guests or a group of lower class workers trying to take shelter from the weather. Adil opened the door cautiously, hoping that Mr Garland was not also behind reception.

Two gentlemen in dark suits and hats were in discussion, their faces drawn down into stern misery. Albert was shaking his head, but pointed them towards the far table at the end of the room. The top of Mr D’Abberville’s head was visible, poking out from behind the broadsheets.

Adil let the door fall shut, giving himself a moment to breathe. The police had come. Quicker and earlier than he had expected.

He pushed the door open again, only letting a crack of light through.

The voices of the officers were too low to hear over the blood pounding in Adil’s ears. Mr D’Abberville looked up when he was approached, his expression quickly becoming stony. The man in the darkest suit stood with his arm out, clearly inviting them to walk together. Mr D’Abberville sneered and shook his head. The words exchanged were too faint to catch.

Adil’s heart bruised his ribs with every beat. When they came for him, would he go quietly? Perhaps the notion of what was to come would overwhelm his better judgement.

“It’s a choice between being dragged out of here or walking of your own accord,” the man in the grey hat said, his voice slightly louder. He reached into his coat and withdraw a pair of handcuffs, not bothering to hide them from other early morning guests. Mr D’Abberville’s eyes narrowed at the sight of them, and he folded his newspaper with great aplomb.

The first officer looked around the room, and his eyes seemed drawn to the barely open door beside the reception desk. Adil let the door fall shut, feeling like the stare had struck him cold.

That was it then. He had been rumbled.

Adil didn’t think about his destination, just took to the stairs two at a time. He found himself knocking on Toby’s door within minutes, the urgency of the strokes hurting his hand.

“Toby,” he whispered. “ _Toby_.”

He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. It wasn’t fair and they couldn’t make him; he would drag his feet and cause a scene. He would yell and twist and be impossible to hold. To hell with dignity!

It became clear after five minutes that Toby was not going to answer. Adil continued uselessly for another ten minutes just in case, his knuckles becoming red and enflamed. He gave up when his hand was throbbing, removing the note from his pocket and reading it one more time.

TOBY / I / AM / SO / SORRY.

Adil pressed the paper to his mouth for a few seconds before tucking it under the door. It was already late morning, so Toby would be sitting in his sunless office at his desk. He wouldn’t see the message at all until he got home from work.

Was it best to wait in the Atrium to be taken away? Or should he lurk downstairs, eking out every moment?

In the end Adil decided to go and count the liquor stocks, for lack of a better idea. It was inadvisable to wait outside Toby’s room anyway – he had no good reason for being there.

Almost as soon as he had picked up his clipboard and pencil in the cellar, Mr Garland appeared in the staff doorway. He had the hard stare that said ‘I have been looking for you’ and Adil waited anxiously for the axe to fall.

“Bar duty,” he said briskly, taking the inventory list from Adil’s hands.

“Now?” Adil almost snatched the clipboard back, wanting five more minutes of normality. Mr Garland raised an eyebrow, his face uncompromising. He was opposed to any deviation in routine, and the switch onto bar duty signalled a high-profile guest or small party.

“Right away, sir,” Adil said miserably. He dragged his feet all the way to the bar, forcing his head up just before he entered. His features fell into the practiced vacantness that was polite and inviting. He felt his lower lip twitching and forced it to stop.

Adil moved to stand next to Tom, their shoulders an inch apart.

“One group of four at the Hamilton table,” Tom told him, indicating his chin to the far corner of the room. “One VIP guest by the doors, Earl of somewhere or other –”

Adil felt a shock pass through him. The ‘party of four’ was made up of three people Adil had never seen before…and Toby. They were sitting around one of the dining tables with martini glasses in front of them. Toby’s back was ramrod straight, like he was waiting for a small explosion.

“Why isn’t Mr Hamilton at work?” Adil asked, cutting off Tom’s observations. The other boy shrugged, unconcerned.

“No idea, but I reckon they’re all from the same office. They’ve got that pale, tortured look, don’t you think? A bit too clever. Anyway, just one round of drinks so far; dry martinis, no ice.”

Toby looked up at that moment and caught Adil’s gaze. He looked oddly emotionless, the opposite of how Adil knew him to be.

“It’s a little early for a drinking party,” Adil mumbled to Tom, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Don’t say that to Lady Beverley,” Tom grinned, acknowledging their alcoholic guest by the stage. She was nearing her eightieth birthday and called all the bar staff by an incorrect name, despite being a regular guest for the last decade.

“Hamilton on the move,” Tom said in barely a whisper. It was code to stand up a little straighter, make your smile a little wider. Adil did both, feeling as fake as a shop mannequin. When Toby approached the counter his smile faltered.

“What can I, um, get you, Mr Hamilton?” Tom looked at him in surprise, not used to hearing the hotel’s head barman fumble his words. Adil pressed a cloth into Tom’s hands meaningfully, waiting for the other boy to depart and start cleaning tables.

Toby stood with his arms at his sides. Adil wondered how much self-control it was taking not to fidget, or twist the ring around his finger self-consciously. He wanted the awkward Toby Hamilton back as a matter of urgency.

“I thought a good barman knew what his guests wanted before they had to ask?”

Adil wondered if Toby had slept well. There were pale shadows under his eyes and his jaw was clenched tight. He pulled a glass from under the bar and set it on the counter, empty.

“Which would you like first, an apology or a drink?”

Toby’s eyes fixed on the glass, then on Adil’s face. “I’ll take the drink.”

Disheartened, Adil fetched the bottle of vermouth and began measuring it against a portion of gin. He stirred them together artfully and pierced a cocktail stick through an olive. He slid the drink across.

Toby did not take the drink.

“Make another,” he said.

Adil hesitated, but reached for the correct bottles again.

“Slower,” Toby said. Adil stopped moving entirely, confused. “I want to watch the process, you see,” Toby said, eating the olive out of his drink. “It’s _fascinating_. Did I ever tell you how clever you are?”

Adil felt his face heat, his finger jumping on the bottle as a nerve in his hand twitched. He measured out the gin again, slowly filling the glass.

“I love watching you work,” Toby continued, hitching his face into a fake grin. “You can tell me all about it, if you want. I mean, you don’t have to – I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. Maybe if I took some notes –”

“Enough.” Adil slid the finished drink across, his body trembling with the effort needed to remain in control. “I get it, that’s enough.”

Toby knocked back the first drink in one go, a small shiver running through him. He reached for the second but Adil pulled it back, keeping a hand on the base to prevent Toby taking it.

“I wanted to tell you every single day,” Adil said, overly aware that they were in a public place. The bar was nearly empty, but it was inadvisable to talk above a whisper. “I said no from the start but he threatened to expose you. To _ruin_ you. And to send my family...away. It was a loaded gun to my head.”

Toby watched him, his face carefully blank.

“Believe me,” Adil whispered. He tried to put the significant amount of weight onto the words, needing Toby to hear them. “ _Believe_ me. I made a terrible mistake because…well, I stood to lose everything. All the people I care about the most.”

He would still lose everyone, when the police came. But their lives would remain intact after he was removed, and that was bearable.

Toby’s eyes were darting over his face, attempting to catch the lie. He forced his shoulders to relax, letting them drop several inches. “I brought my work colleagues in for a drink,” he said, the words dry. “We’ve been turned out of the office today while our department conducts an ‘internal investigation’. I thought you might like to gather some intel. Mr Westfield works in Navel Navigation –”

“I don’t give a damn who you work with.” It was the rudest thing he had ever said to Toby. Even uttering the word ‘damn’ made Adil’s heart stutter, half-expecting Mr Garland to grab him by the throat and march him out of the bar.

“That’s a shame,” Toby said, making a show of shaking his head. “I’m fresh out of documents for you to poke through. I’d hoped that my pals would be enough –”

Adil reached forwards and grabbed the back of Toby’s hand. The other boy jumped, looking at him in surprise. He tried to pull away but Adil didn’t let him, latching on to the familiar cool skin.

Adil made sure their eyes were locked before taking a deep breath.

“I love you,” he said, firmly. The words came from his gut, like they were the only possible response. “I really honestly love you…Mr, um, Hamilton.” The title was tacked on hastily as Tom arrived back at his side. Adil let go of Toby’s hand, moving it casually back to the base of the glass. Toby was staring at him, frozen.  

“Can I fetch you anything else, Mr Hamilton?” Tom asked cheerfully.

Toby didn’t answer him. There was an electric current passing between him and Adil, both refusing to look away. After a few seconds Toby seemed to snap out of his trance, telling Tom to bring his friends another round.  

When they were alone Adil leaned over the counter.

“I’m going to prison today. Probably the noose too, within a few weeks. I don’t want this to end with bitterness. I want to go knowing that – ”

“Say it again,” Toby said, eyes darting over Adil’s face. He had leant forwards over the bar too, so that they were only inches apart. “Say it right now.”

Adil didn’t know if he could make himself. They were in a room with other people, some of whom were looking over at them.

“I…love you,” he said, quietly. The words were electrifying.

“You’ve never mentioned that before.” Toby’s voice was slow, as if he was translating the words from an unfamiliar language. Members of his drinking group were turning around to look for him, wondering why he had not re-joined their table. “I swear, if you’re saying it to win my forgiveness –”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” Adil cut across him. “It’s just the truth.”

Toby sipped his second drink. His icy composure appeared impossible to sustain and Adil caught a glimpse of the old Toby underneath; he looked awkward and shell-shocked, his eyes slightly too wide.    

Adil desperately wanted to reach out and wrap his hands around Toby’s jacket lapels. He wiped the counter instead.

Mrs Beverly, the elderly alcoholic who liked his cocktails, raised her hand for Adil to bring her another. He pretended he hadn’t seen the summons, wanting to stretch out his time with Toby.

“Can I come and see you later?” he asked, trepidation making the words awkward.

Toby was still angry, Adil could see it in the set of his shoulders. The ‘L’ word had broken through it momentarily, jumbling the signals. The argument was on pause, ready to resume when they were alone. 

“Adam.” Mrs Beverly was clicking her arthritic fingers at him, gesturing at her empty glass. Adil refused to look over, his eyes only on Toby.

“I need to explain, properly.”

“ _Adam_.” Mrs Beverly waved both hands, the table in front of her filled with three empty tumblers.

“Does she mean you?” Toby asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, of course not. May I see you after your colleagues have departed?”

Toby considered him. “You’re at work tonight until ten,” he said. He had memorised Adil’s work schedule directly after their first kiss. “Come up after.”

“I can go now,” Adil said quickly. “I won’t have this job by tomorrow anyway, so it doesn’t matter –”

“Finish your shift,” Toby said.

The words were thrown down like a challenge: if you make it to the end of the day, then we’ll talk.

“Adam!”

Toby turned around to look at the hunched Lady Beverly, who was tilted almost horizontally in her chair. Adil began throwing together her drink, the movements hurried. “Another part of your double life?” Toby asked wryly, as the old woman crowed for him again.

Adil shot him an apologetic look, quickly tossing the daiquiri in the mixer to placate the old lady. She was still gesturing for him, clapping her frail hands.

“If I don’t arrive at ten,” Adil began cautiously, pushing a wedge of lemon onto the side of the drink. “If I don’t turn up to see you, I might have been…detained. By the police.”

“You won’t be,” Toby said shortly. “Meet me after your shift.” He picked up the martini and walked away, re-joining his colleagues. Adil watched him for several seconds, his heart expanding to dangerous proportions.

“For goodness sake boy, can’t you hear me calling you?” Lady Beverly peered over the collection of empty daiquiri glasses as Adil hurried to her side. “The service here gets slower by the day.” 

*   

Adil was not sure what Toby meant, in his assurance that he would not be detained by the police. Perhaps he was simply not aware that Mr D’Abberville had been apprehended, or that another detective had come to the hotel looking for Adil.   

Whether it was good fortune or something else, Toby’s prophesy came true. With only ten minutes left of his shift, Adil’s eyes were glued to his watch.

“Girlfriend?” Tom guessed, wiping down the units. “Or worried Mr Garland will be back?” Mr Garland had finally noticed Adil’s scruffy brown shoes and issued a dire warning about professional standards. If it had happened before his encounters with Mr D’Abberville, Adil would have been shaken.

“I’ve got an appointment,” Adil said, watching the minute hand climb slowly higher. His stomach was a bundle of nerves, anxiety reaching peak levels. He had told Toby he loved him, and the other boy had not said it back.

Maybe the sentiment wasn’t true anymore. People fell out of love every day and he had no supernatural hold over Toby. They were just two people who shared a secret.

“You’re free to go,” Tom nudged him, pointing at the clock on the wall. “I think your watch is running slow. Go and do…whatever it is.”

Adil didn’t bother to say goodbye. He took off from the bar as fast as he could, bolting like a greyhound let loose from the starting blocks. He took the stairs in twos and threes, thighs burning with the sudden burst of exercise.

Waiting to be carted away in the back of a police van had kept him coiled like a spring all day. Running burnt off some of the fear.

His footfalls must have been heavy on the corridor carpets but Adil willed himself not to care. He would be gone before any guest could poke their heads out of their rooms to complain.

In hindsight, Adil should have given himself a minute outside of Toby’s room to compose himself. Instead he hammered on the door like he was trying to break it down.

It opened just as Adil began to cough, the air in his throat constricted.

“Were you chased up here?” Toby asked, directing him to sit in one of the armchairs. Adil slouched forwards over his knees, attempting to force air back into his lungs. He was shaking with adrenaline, his breaths coming in short pants.

“N-no,” he managed, eye watering.

Toby sat in the chair opposite him, watching Adil’s red face. When it was clear he was no longer in danger of fainting, Toby leaned forwards purposefully. “I reported Mr D’Abberville to Special Branch this morning,” he said.

Adil felt the world blurring unpleasantly. “You reported me?” It shouldn’t have been a surprise. What had he expected to happen? All traitors were exposed in due course.

Toby shook his head.

“I said I reported _him_. As far as anyone knows, Mr D’Abberville approached you to obtain the information, and you came directly to me.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth wearily. “Which is, coincidentally, what you should have done from the beginning.”

Adil nodded. He was still waiting for the penny to drop, for Toby to tell him what was going to happen to him next.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Toby said, responding to his thought.

“Because I want to know how much time I have left.”

Toby’s head tipped to the side, and Adil wanted to burn the little gesture into his brain. Those were the memories that would keep him going. The tiny idiosyncrasies that made Toby Hamilton tick.

“You think I would let you go to jail?”

The question stopped Adil’s brain momentarily. “I don’t understand,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “Would you rather I hang?”

Silence filled the room. Toby looked at him in open mouthed disbelief.

“Do I want you to _hang_?” he echoed. “Do you really think I’m that monstrous?”

Adil blinked at him owlishly, hands clasped together in his lap. The whole situation was confusing, and being in Toby’s room was akin to sensory overload.

“Adil,” Toby said, pinching the corners of his eyes. He looked exhausted. “I am absolutely bloody furious with you. In fact, I’m having trouble not wringing your neck right this second. But that’s the end of it.”

“The detectives –”

“Were here for him.”

“But I _helped_ him –”

“Under duress.”

Toby’s gaze was steady, and the certainty of it made Adil feel like he was falling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling the events of the last week crushing him.

Toby reached into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “I know,” he said. “I found this after I left the bar.”

The numbers remained numbers, no letters scribbled underneath. Adil guessed that Toby had worked it out in his head, not needing a pencil.

“I may be angry, but I am not an idiot. I can see why you thought you had to do it. You were protecting your family… And my dignity, though God knows I’ve never had much of it.”

Adil reached forwards and took the note. He turned it over, so he could see Toby’s original message. Toby’s eyes flicked down to it too, and a redness spread across his face.

“On the subject of dignity, you seem determined to rob me of whatever I have left.”

Adil slid to the floor and knelt in front of Toby. He forced himself not to touch, simply to be close. He could see the thought running through Toby’s head: _you only said it because I did_. It would be an easy mechanism to trigger forgiveness, a short cut through the difficulty.

“You had the courage to declare it first,” Adil said quietly. “But not to feel it first.”

Toby stared at him, and Adil forced himself to remain still. “You sound awfully confident about that,” Toby said, after a few seconds had passed.

Adil nodded. “Day one would be hard to beat.”

Toby reached out a slow hand and placed it on Adil’s face. Adil allowed his eyes to fall closed at the touch. He placed his hands on his knees so he would not reach back, allowing Toby to control the contact.

A thumb stroked up and down the bone of his cheek, the touch familiar and kind.

“Perhaps if anyone threatens you again with ruin, deportation or death…you could let me know about it,” Toby suggested.

Adil kept his attention focussed on keeping his hands to himself. “I’ll strongly consider doing that,” he said.

They sat like that for a while, until Adil’s legs had completely gone to sleep under him. When he grimaced and shuffled around, Toby gripped him by the collar and pulled at it until they were both standing up.  

There was a moment where Adil stood awkwardly, not sure if an advance would be welcome. “A crime has still been committed,” he reminded Toby, as they stood a few inches apart. “One that may cost hundreds of lives. Even if you excuse me, I have not excused myself.”  

They were breathing the same air. Toby rocked back on the balls of his feet, taking in Adil’s expression. “If anything serious had happened due to a leak, I would have heard about it by now,” he said. “Those papers relate to events unfolding, at most, one day ahead.”

Confused relief washed through Adil’s entire body, so cleansing and pure that it made him light headed.

“You’re very tolerant of criminals,” he murmured. 

Toby rolled his eyes heavenward before stepping forward and wrapping both arms around Adil’s waist. He brought their foreheads together, and Adil went momentarily cross-eyed trying to keep him in focus.

“As far as I’m concerned you’ve only committed one crime,” Toby said. After a second of delay, Adil brought a hand up to Toby’s neck, lightly. “Luckily for you… It’s a crime I have a weakness for myself.”

Before Adil’s brain could catch up, Toby tilted forward to kiss him. It was light and innocent, barely a second long. When he pulled away Adil leaned forwards and wrapped him in a tight, bone-crushing embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst which ends happily – my favourite.  
> Thank you so much for reading and for all your comments!
> 
> I'll leave the link for the Halcyon series 2 petition here...Because I'm an eternal optimist :)  
> https://www.change.org/p/itv-get-itv-s-the-halcyon-a-season-2


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